


Through Time Darkly

by Professor_Fluffy



Series: Through Time Darkly Universe [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, M/M, Time Line Fuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:03:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professor_Fluffy/pseuds/Professor_Fluffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve and Tony end up in 1940's Brooklyn, Steve is forced to make a decision he never thought he'd have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Turnabout

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will be updated during the next chapter. I know there will be more characters appearing. Potentially Clint/Phil. An explicit rating jump is also a possibility.

Tony scrambled to safety, ripping his right gauntlet free. “At your five o’ clock Hawkeye.”

“The Fantastic Four have the Island of Manhattan covered, Stark.” Johnny yelled above him. He did a flaming nosedive into the center of the pack, squad -- Tony paused -- the jello? They were kind of jiggly and gelatinous. 

He climbed the emergency fire-escape to ground level, hoping the weight of the suit wouldn’t tear through the rickety steps. Steve was making quick work of a couple of monsters at the end of the ally. Steve had a thing for fighting in alleys.

Hawkeye whipped past on one of Tony’s Quinbike prototypes. They were fast and sleek, built on the alien tech left behind after the siege of Manhattan. Clint was slinging arrows out of his quiver in rapid succession. Tony took cover and fired a few repulsor shots. A ball of slime slammed into the chest plate and splattered, The Mark VII systems sputtered and shut down. “Johnny, can you burn this off without frying me?”

“No problem Stark.” The kid flew low and emitted a fine flame that danced along the armor, boiling the goo into a fine vapor. 

“Thanks.”

Johnny Storm saluted and took off. Tony almost slammed into Reed and was about to chew him out when the armor detected a suspicious heat signature. 

They spotted Doom at the same time. Reed’s arms elongated as Tony dug at the wires in his gauntlet, trying to get it operational. The gauntlet powered up with a whine, but his power levels were dangerously depleted.

Tony ran to catch up with Mr. Fantastic.

Doom glared, his eyes cold and cunning behind the hideous metal mask. “Iron Man, Reed, I’m afraid I can’t be bothered with you today. I’m here for Captain America.”

Tony yanked his helmet free. “You’re going to have to settle this time, Doom, baby.”

“Kings do not settle. I suggest you summon your leader before I blow Manhattan off the map.”

“He’s bluffing.” Reed frowned. 

Doom held up a slender vial, tipping it back and forth in one gloved hand. “Am I? This contains anti-matter. Cern thinks they are the only ones who have access to this sort of research. I rule an entire country, I assure you we are quite proud of our new particle accelerator. You’re both educated men, do not make me shatter this capsule.”

“You’ll kill yourself too, you narcissistic bastard.”

“That’s cute, coming from you, Stark.” 

“You want me Doom? I’m right here.” Steve ran out of the Alley behind Tony, holding the shield in front of him like a bludgeon.

Tony backed up a few steps, prepared to launch himself between Steve and Doom.

“Captain, you’ve been a constant source of irritation.You may thank me for not killing you, as much as it would please me to do so, you are notorious for resurrecting yourself. No, I will return you to the pestilent streets of Brooklyn where you belong.”

Steve hesitated.

Doom smiled.

Tony opened his mouth in a silent warning. 

Doom fired the gun he’d concealed behind his back. 

Tony threw himself at Steve, slamming him to the ground. The air shimmered. 

Tony blacked out. 

He woke up in a wet ally to a cat pissing on the gauntlet of his suit. “Fuck.” 

His head was throbbing.

The cat yowled pathetically, and went from pissing to rubbing, wrapping itself around his face in a sinuous curve. He shoved it away. “Knock it off, would you?”

 

Tony’s back spasmed. He scrambled to his feet, taking a deep breath. Everything swam. There were laundry lines suspended from windows above him. Someone shouted overhead and tossed a pot of dirty water into the street, splattering his boots. A girl darted around the corner and yelped. Tony covered his ears. “Damn kid, keep it down.”

She stopped, startled, and gaped up at him. “Whaddya supposed to be?”

“What?

“You look like somthin’ from the radio. Are you a robot?” 

Tony scratched his head and yawned. “Yeah, something like that.” He hit the releases on the armor, thankful that it was the briefcase suit and not the standard version.

“You work for Mr. Stark?”

Tony did a double take. “Mr. Stark?”

“Howard Stark?” she scowled. “If you work for him, you’d best scram before Cap catches you in his territory.”

“Cap?” Tony sucked in a breath. “Big guy? Blond? Muscles?”

She looked at him like he had two heads. “You need to lay off the sauce. Everyone knows who Captain Rogers is.”

“Don’t be a wiseass. I need to talk to Rogers. Show me where he's at?”

“Yeah right.” 

He shoved his hand in his pocket. It was empty. “What the hell?”

“You fell asleep in an alley, in Brooklyn.” She eyed his wrist. “I’ll take your watch though.” 

“I’ll bet. Remind me not to introduce you to the Black Widow. She’d like you.” He took the watch off and dropped it in her hand.

“This way.” She gestured for him to follow. 

Tony grabbed the case and hurried to catch up with her. They darted through a series of back alleys. Tony stepped in a puddle of rancid water and cursed, shaking his ankle. They came to a series of narrow buildings crammed together in a tight row. The girl darted toward the door. He was surprised to see Coulson standing at the bottom of the fire escape, arms crossed over his chest. Coulson leaned down to listen. 

Tony took a sharp blow to the back of the head and crumpled to the ground.

“He looks like a goddamned Stark.”

“I don’t give a shit. I didn’t give you any orders.”

“You pay us to protect you. And I’m the best sniper you’ve got Cap.”

“You’re a cocky wisenheimer, Barton, you’re lucky I put up with your lip. Get your ass downstairs and report to Phil.”

Tony opened his eyes slowly, trying to ignore the throbbing at the base of his skull. 

Steve was scowling at him. His blue eyes were narrow slits. His hand hovered over his gun. He looked like a mobster, from his neatly pressed shirt to the tooled loafers on his feet. _A sexy early American gangster._

“Who the hell are you? And you’d better give me a good reason not to blow your fucking head off.” 

Tony stretched, noting with some fascination the way Steve’s eyes followed his shirt as the hem shifted over his hip. That was new.

“Tony”

“Tony who?”

Tony rolled onto his stomach and looked up at Steve, “Tony Stark, I’m --

Steve cocked the gun. Tony’s mouth went dry. “Did Howard send you?”

“Woah. Steve, I think you’ve got the wrong idea. Aren't you Captain America? Captain America doesn’t kill people. I mean, I assume you’re still Captain America, you have the muscles, and the height...” He was rambling. 

“I don’t go by that name anymore. You already know that. I’ll be damned if Barton wasn’t right, you’ve got Stark written all over you.” 

He was watching Tony like a predator. The gun was an extension of his arm, level and steady. Tony took a deep breath. Getting turned on by Steve Rogers pointing a gun in his face was a piss poor survival strategy. “Can you please put down the gun? I’m not your enemy Cap.”

“How the hell should I know. You even sound like Howard.”

 _If that wasn’t a slap in the face._ “Fuck you.”

Steve’s mouth quirked. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”  


“Oh, yeah, because I’m sure yours would approve of her son staring down the barrel of a gun at a _perfect stranger._ ”

“I was a Captain in the Army, I doubt she’d be surprised.” 

Tony shook his head. “What year is this?”

“1947.” Steve lowered the gun a fraction.

“Great, now you think I’m slow. That’s fucking cute.” 

Steve crouched down, sitting on an overturned milk crate. His feet were bare, but his hair was still perfectly parted. 

“Nothing ruffles you, does it?”

“You can start by telling me what that is.” Steve waved at the Iron Man briefcase where it was leaning against the an old clawed tub. 

Tony seemed to be out of danger for the moment, but Steve’s eyes warned him that going for the case would be a very bad idea. He tried to sit still but his head was throbbing. “You have any aspirin?”

 

Steve dug under the bed for a second and tossed him a tin of Anacin. He stared at it blankly. “Oh. Here,” Steve walked to the tap and handed him a glass of cloudy water. Tony wrinkled his nose. 

“Problem?”

“No, not at all.” Tony grabbed a few pills and took a quick drink, trying not to look at the glass.

“Good. Now, what the hell is that thing? Is Howard trying to send his goons down here with a bomb? Because I promise you, pal, I have a contingency plan.”

“No, it’s.. it’s an invention I was working on. You can’t let Howard get it. Trust me. Bad idea. Hey, since when do you hate Howard, I thought you were friends?”

“We..” Steve hesitated, watching Tony. He clenched his fists. “We were friends, but he changed. I don’t know... I can’t remember, but he’s not a good person anymore. He tramples on everyone. His wife, Maria, she helps us, donates money to the needy and provides assistance to the people of Brooklyn. Howard is a real bastard though.”

“Tell me about it.”

Steve was scowling again. “You’re really easy to talk to.”

Tony grinned.

“That wasn’t a compliment. Is that why Howard sent you?”

“Hey, take it easy. Howard pisses me off as much as he pisses you off. I promise. I’ll tell you the whole story as soon as I can. I don’t think you’d believe me now --”

“That’s convenient.”

Tony shrugged. “It’s the best you’re going to get at the moment.”

“I could shoot you now.”

“Suit yourself. Then you’ll never get the rest of the story. Look Steve, we -- I -- need to get home. I need your help.”

Steve started to say something, but there was a commotion in the hall.

“Hey, Cap, we’ve got company.” Clint was standing in the door frowning at Tony. 

“You stay here.” Cap grabbed his gun and a pair of brass knuckles. “He’s under house arrest Barton, try not to shoot him.”

“Hey, you can’t just...” 

Steve turned and gave Clint icy stare. Clint shut his mouth. Tony was impressed. Apparently, Steve _could_.

Steve walked into the hall and shut the door. Tony started to go after him. 

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Hey, Hawk. Can I call you Hawk?”

Clint pulled a giant dagger out of a leg sheath and began cleaning his nails.

“Ok, that’s a no. Touchy bastard,” Tony muttered. 

Clint smiled.

“Fine, do you have facilities? I need a shower and a shave.

“Does this look like a hotel, pal?”

“You really don’t want me to answer that.”

“Tub’s over there,” Clint nodded toward the clawed monstrosity near the door. 

“You know what? Nevermind. I’m good. What do you guys do around here for entertainment?”

By the time Steve returned, Tony was asleep on the couch, curled in the fetal position, Steve’s patched blanket tucked around him in a cocoon.. Clint was tossing knives into a crude target on the wall. 

“How long’s the stray been asleep?”

“Not long. I lit the copper for you Cap, he reeks.”

“Go on. Coulson’s in the kitchen, he wants a word.”

Steve tossed his shirt on the back of a chair. “I know you’re awake.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“You can have my bed tonight.”

“No, I --”

“It’s not charity. Easier for me to catch you if you try and slink off.” He grabbed the blanket Tony was partially wrapped in. 

“Hey!”

“You’re taking a bath. You stink.”

“Flatterer.”

“If you’re staying here, which you are, you’re going to bathe. So get your wiseass over there. You’re lucky we have indoor plumbing.”

Tony stared at him in horror.

Steve snorted. “I’m jerking you around, we’ve had indoor plumbing for about ten years. Jeeze pal, you’re really not in Kansas anymore, are you?”

“I get that reference,” Tony sneered. 

“And it gets better, we have heated water.” Steve’s teeth flashed. Tony wanted to throttle him. 

“Here,” he tossed Tony a bar of soap. 

“Shampoo?”

Steve stared at him. “Use the soap. I don’t have any Lux Flakes. This isn’t a hotel.”

"So I've been told." 

Steve turned the taps and walked through a door at the back of the room. He came back with a giant metal tub and a washboard. 

“Toss me your cloths.”

“What?”

“It’s Monday.” Steve gave him an arch look. “Laundry day.”

“You are not watching me take a bath.”

Steve gave him an unimpressed look. “I was in the military for six years, you think you have something I haven’t seen? You’re not a draft dodger are you, because I will shoot you.”

“I’m not a damned draft dodger. Fine!" Tony yanked his shirt off and lopped it at Steve’s head.

He froze, hands on his belt buckle when Steve made a low startled noise behind him.. 

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s an arc reactor, ok? It keeps me alive. I don’t want to talk about it. Asshole”

Steve filled the sink with tepid water and began dragging Tony’s shirt over the washboard. “Fine, but if you even think about using that against my people --”

Tony paused, turning to face Steve, hands planted firmly on his hips, and was pleased with the faint wash of color that stained Steve’s cheeks. “You’re the one who’s making this into some sort of exhibition, soldierboy.”

“Just get in the tub, when I’m done with this, I’ll take everything out back and you can get dressed. My clothing is in the footlocker by the couch, help yourself.”

“What,” Tony sputtered. “What about my clothing?”

“I need to hang it out to dry. Clint had to take out a few of Howard’s boys yesterday, be glad your stuff isn’t going going in with his wash.” 

Tony sat in the tub and began rubbing his hair with the yellow brick Steve called soap,pointedly ignoring Steve’s presence. “He killed them?” 

“What do you think?”

Tony paused, startled, and soap dribbled down his face, stinging his eyes. He cursed, cupping water and splashing it against his face.. 

Then Steve was there, towering over him. “Stop it, you’re sloshing. It’ll rot the floorboards.” 

“Like you can tell the difference -- hey! What are you doing.” Tony yelped as Steve dumped a pitcher of cold water over his head. 

Steve smirked at him. “Finish cleaning yourself, I’m taking the laundry out back.”

“For what, it’s cold out.”

“To put through the mangler.”

“Oh, that’s appropriate. What the hell is a mangler?”

“Gets the water out.” 

Steve pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and slid one out, putting it between his lips.

“Jesus, you smoke too? “

“Whaddaya my mother?”

“No. I can’t talk, trust me. But you’re just full of surprises today. That shit’ll kill you. Well it won’t kill you per say, but... you know what... nevermind. Forget it.” Tony stood, sloshing more water over the side of the tub. Steve cursed and grabbed a ratty towel out of the foot locker. He tossed it at Tony who caught it neatly and started drying his hair. “Jesus, it’s cold in here. How do you get anything done? I can’t feel my fingers.”

Steve shrugged. “It’s New York, pal.” 

 

Tony woke up gradually the next morning, and swatted at the big meaty hand on his shoulder. He shoved his face into the flat pillow. His muscles felt stiff, and the room sure as hell didn't smell like coffee. “Off J.A.R.V.I.S. Too much light.” 

“Get up, I have work to do. You should get dressed before Clint gets here.” 

Tony sure as hell didn’t remember letting Steve into his room last night, he blinked groggily. “Go away, Rogers, unless you have coffee.”

“This isn’t a cafe. Get your ass up, you bum.” Steve grabbed his blanket and yanked. Tony yelped and rolled off the bed, onto the cold floor, squinting blearily up at Steve. He took in the tousled hair, the sculpted, muscular chest, and the pleated pants, the black garters in Steve’s hand, and the holster tossed across the end of the bed. Memory came flooding back. “Fuuuuck,” he groaned, and flopped backward onto the floor. Steve nudged him with his foot. “Get up, or I’ll make you.”

“Jesus, Rogers, you're a disgusting morning person, aren't you? He scrambled to his feet and snatched the blanket back, wrapping it around himself. Steve let him, content to watch him stagger toward rickety table. “What’s for breakfast?” Tony leaned his forehead against the tabletop.

“You’ll have to find something in the icebox, I told you, I’ve got work to do. There might be some oatmeal in the pantry.”

“You woke me up, and you’re not even going to make breakfast? Tony whined. “You always make breakfast.”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“Nothing, run along.” Tony groaned, and stretched, burying his face in his arms.

“That’s some attractive bedhead.”

“Go away Steve.”

Steve left Coulson with Tony for the afternoon. It took Tony ten seconds to decide he was a bigger pain in the ass than Clint. Coulson spent most of the afternoon listening to soaps on the radio. The one time Tony wandered too close to the door, Coulson pinched a nerve in his leg. He dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Tony was currently sitting on the edge of the bed sulking. 

By the time Phil’s soaps were over, they were crouched over a scrabble board arguing the validity of the word swagger. A door slammed open below them. There was a lot of shouting and cursing. Tony recognized Steve’s soft mutter, followed by Clint’s caustic reply. 

“The boss got himself shot,” Clint shouted cheerfully. Tony scrambled to his feet. Coulson put a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. Tony tried to throw a punch, but Coulson grabbed his wrist and stared him down. 

Tony shot to his feet. “Let me go, you son of a bitch!” Coulson grabbed him and tossed him over his shoulder. Tony sputtered. 

When Coulson walked into the hall, with Tony trying ineffectively to kick and claw his way free, Clint gave them an amused grin.

Steve’s arm was slung around Clint’s shoulder. 

“You said he was shot, you didn’t say he had a broken femur. How the hell are you still standing?”

Clint glared at Steve. “You didn’t say your femur was broken, asshole. No wonder you were such a bitch to drag in here.” 

“It doesn’t hurt.” Steve scowled. “Why are you carrying Tony like that?”

“He didn’t want to cooperate, he wouldn’t shut up unless I brought him out here. This was easier.”

“Easier?” Tony tried to grab a handful of Coulson’s hair. Phil just pinned his arm to his side. 

Steve smiled. He actually smiled. The bastard was leaning on one leg with a broken Femur, and still had the temerity to grin like that. Tony began to squirm in earnest. “Let me go, you son of a bitch!”

Steve nodded, and Phil set him on the ground. He darted toward Steve. Clint almost dropped Steve trying to stop Tony. 

Steve frowned and shook his head. “Let him go.”

Tony gave Clint a withering look. “Why are you just standing there, get his ass in bed.”

Steve was amused. 

Clint scowled, but he helped Steve inside.

“What happened? You’re not normally this reckless. You left me here with Coulson. I was bored out of my skull, I played scrabble Steve, scrabble. Who plays scrabble? It’s mind numbing.” He couldn't shut up. 

He pulled the bandage off of Steve’s arm. It didn't look infected, and it was healing rapidly, but it was closing slower than Steve’s wounds normally would. “Why isn’t the serum working?”

“Too much damage. They caught me, worked me over. Howard has weapons designed to slow me down, so I can’t escape. I actually look a lot better now” 

Coulson looked pissed. 

“They... Howard?”

“Yeah, Howard.”

“Why the hell do you keep antagonizing him.”

“We’re stealing his blueprints.”

Clint took a seat by the stove and began smearing butter on some of his burns. “Why are you telling him --

“You’re stealing his plans? Steve, you can’t just steal plans from Stark Industries.” Tony sputtered. “You can’t do that! I know Howard’s a dick, but if he invented something, it’s his. What's your problem? And don’t use butter Clint, that’s bullshit first-aid, just run it under the tap. Fuck.”

Steve tried to push Tony’s hands away, but Tony knocked his wrist back and dumped a shot of vodka on the open wound. Steve flinched, clawing at the blankets. “That hurts!”

“Well you shouldn't be stealing someone else’s inventions, asshole.” Tony gestured for Clint to bring a clean rag and asked Coulson to boil some water on the wood-burner. 

“He’s killing our boys!” Steve practically shouted.

Tony blanched and almost dropped his bowl on the floor. “He’s doing what?”

“Tony.” Steve’s eyes were fever bright, his face streaked with sweat. “I don’t know what you think is going on here, but Howard is selling Stark weapons to the military. He’s got this young guy, Stane... The guy is crooked. I can’t prove it. But ever since he started working with Howard, they’ve been pushing weapons development. When I started protesting, I was discharged from the army. Howard doesn’t give a shit who he sells weapons to. The army may not need Captain America, but the people do. That shit’s not going to fly with me. I’ve already lost friends, some guys from Brooklyn, fellas I used to fight with in the European Theater. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Howard manufacture weapons to take out more of them.”

Tony’s hands were shaking. Coulson grabbed the bowl and made him sit on the bed next to Steve while he finished cleaning out the wound. Tony was quiet until Clint propped Steve’s leg on a chair and started to make a crude splint. He helped hold Steve’s leg in place until they were able to cover him with a blanket. Once Steve was asleep, he quietly walked to the sink and vomited up the contents of his stomach.

He rinsed his mouth and splashed water on his face before returning to the table. Clint handed him a shot of whisky. He downed it in a quick swallow.  
“  
“You gonna run?” 

Tony shook his head. 

“Good, we’ll stop babysitting you, but so help me, if you hurt Cap, or you try and escape, Phil will break both of your legs and I’ll turn you into a human pin-cushion. We good here?”

Tony nodded. 

He spent the next few days cleaning up Steve’s apartment. Tony started doing the laundry on Mondays, and fixing some of the crude appliances in the apartment. When Steve was able to get around a little better, he did most of the cooking. Tony hated cooking, and Steve could actually make things taste edible. Tony became friends with the woman across the way. If Steve came home with blood on his clothing, Tony didn't ask. He wasn’t sure how to bring up the future, or why he could remember being an Avenger but Steve couldn’t. 

One could theoretically travel to the future, but traveling to the past was considered impossible by most of the modern scientific community. For now, they were stuck in the 1940’s. If Phil and Clint were here, did that mean the other Avengers were here too? What about civilians? 

When the temperature dipped into the low teens, Steve insisted they share the bed. The only thing that kept the place warm when the landlord turned off the heat at night was the stove. Tony shivered violently, teeth clacking, unaccustomed to the brutality of New York nights. Steve came home with new blankets, pretending he’d grabbed them for himself. Tony was grateful. Steve ordered extra coal, and he let Tony wear his warmer flannel shirts. If he noticed Tony was bored and frigidity, and occasionally brought blueprints and stolen parts from Howard’s factory for him, that was Steve's prerogative. 

Tony’s greatest accomplishment was Steve’s bike. One afternoon Steve and Clint returned, battered and concussed, dragging the bike behind them, because it was too busted to ride. The bike's owner wasn't much better off. Steve cursed up a blue streak. He didn't like it, but he was on bed rest. Even Steve wouldn't cross Coulson when he was in a mood.

Once he was asleep, Tony snuck out back. He worked on Steve’s bike for hours. The exterior still had some aesthetic issues, but mechanically, she was better than new. When the sun started to peak, he found Coulson standing in the door with a bowl of beef broth.and a block of cheese.

“Tell us what you’re doing next time. Clint wanted to shoot you for trying to escape.”

“It’s not my fault he’s a creeper with too much time on his hands.”

“Why should we trust you? We still don’t know who the hell you are.”

“How did you end up working for Steve, Coulson?”

“I...” Phil looked confused, and a little perturbed. 

“I was a fan. I collected the comics. When he came back from France, he wanted to protect the people of Brooklyn. I signed up for this. He needed our help.”

“Mmm,” Tony took the wrench out of his mouth and wiped his forehead on the sleeve of one of Steve’s plaid fashion crimes.

“It’s nice of you to fix his bike. He loves that thing.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Coulson frowned. “Don’t let your soup get cold.”

When he went back upstairs, tired, cold, and covered in grease, Steve was watching him from the bed. “Clint said you fixed my bike. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.” 

“I’d get the tub for you, but I’ve been told I’m not allowed up yet.”

“I’ve got it.”

“You’re bored here.” It wasn’t a question.

“No -- Yes. I don’t know Steve.” Tony sighed. “There’s so much we need to talk about. I keep putting it off. I’m afraid. I don’t know if I can get back home. I think I understand you -- anyway, I had this friend, who lost his family. Who lost everything. I think I understand it a little better now, and I think I was maybe a bit of a dick about it.”

“I can see that.”

“Hey, you’re supposed to console me. Asshole.”

Steve snorted. 

“You ever need me to take someone down a notch or two, say the word. I’m not that great at consoling people.”

“Yeah, I suck at it too. My girlfriend left me because of it.”

“Lot of guys lost their girls during that war, I guess they were the ones who really needed the consolation. It was hard being separated.”

Tony wanted to ask about Peggy, but it wasn’t really common knowledge, and Steve never brought her up. He twisted the taps and grabbed the newspaper off the table. “I’ll make supper tonight.”

“You can’t cook.”

“I made an omelette one time wiseguy.” 

“How’d that go for you?”

“Horribly. But this is just toast, flour, and chipped beef. How hard can it be?”

Steve groaned.

“What?”

“We used to have that in the army. We called it shit on a shingle.”

Tony snorted. “Well I can’t do much worse than an army chef, right? 

Turned out he was wrong, but Steve ate it, even though the toast was charred and the sauce was lumpy.

“I swear there’s something wrong with your tastebuds.”

“U.S. Military, pal. Remember?”

The next morning, Tony woke up to Steve’s arm draped over his shoulder.

“God, you’re petite.”

“That is not flattering, Steve.”

“Mmm...”

Steve burrowed his face in the back of Tony’s neck.

Tony was facing the wall like he did most mornings. Steve was curled up around his back like a human furnace. A giant, heavy, human furnace. Tony batted at him, “get up, I’ve got to take a piss.” Steve squirmed against him. Tony cursed. He freed himself, climbing over Steve, and putting one foot on the icy floor with a wince.

Tony grabbed the chamber pot under the edge of the cot and went to hide behind the privacy screen. He’d given Steve shit for having a chamber pot until he realized exactly how cold the floors got in the morning. This was so much better than wandering down the hall to use the shared toilet. He put the lid on the pot, set it near the door, and crawled back into bed, sighing when Captain Grabby-Hands curled around him like he had eight limbs instead of the standard four.

They seemed to have a mutual agreement. Tony could talk about his past whenever he was ready, but until that day came, he wasn’t allowed to leave. Just as well, he had nowhere to go.

They slept for a few more hours until Coulson came to get Steve for their next run.

Tony was trying to do some finer work on the automatic mangler he’d been building. His screwdriver slipped and the handle snapped loose for the third time. The tape he’d used to hold it in place was too brittle from the cold. He eyed Steve’s foot locker. Steve locked it during the day. He’d never explicitly told Tony not to go through his things, but the key he pocketed each morning when he left spoke for itself. Steve wouldn’t be home for another five hours. Tony grabbed a bit of wire and popped the lock, promising his conscious that he’d find what he needed and get the hell out.

He set Steve’s meticulously folded clothing on the edge of the bed. Nestled in the top, near the back, was a loose stack of letters bound by some fraying twine. The bundle was wrapped in a pair of dog tags. Steve always wore his, and there were two, resting loosely against the bundle. Tony picked the letters up and turned one of the tags over. James Buchanan Barnes. He ran a finger over the bumpy metal and took a deep breath, sitting on the floor in front of Steve’s gear. 

He pulled the twine free, sifting through the letters.Most of them were mundane, but the one dated a few days prior to Steve’s enlistment was different.

_Dear James,_

_I know I promised you I wouldn’t write about our agreement because of the censoring board, but you’re coming home for a visit soon. I’m so sorry Buck, I know you told me to hang onto your spare tags until you have a gal to give them to, that it was ok. But it’s not fair to you. It isn’t right. We both know what they mean, and that you’ll never feel that way for me._

_I don’t know why you tolerate a sappy schmuck like me, but I don’t deserve you. You’re my best guy, Bucky, and you always will be. I can’t wear your dog tags anymore. I don’t know how to tell you in person, because the words just never come out right. I wear them every day, I don’t want you to think otherwise. But they don’t belong to me, they belong to the future Ms. Barnes. I can’t keep pretending otherwise._

_I’m still trying to enlist. I hope that one day I can find a woman to love, someone with the qualities I admire in you. I know you’ll laugh at me for being sentimental. I’m tired of being alone. I like women just fine, but I haven't found anyone special, or for that matter, anyone who will look at me twice. And none of them are you. But thanks Bucky, for always being there for me, for not tossing me out on my ass when I told you..._

_I’m going to enlist soon. I’ll have your back._

_Yours Always,_

_Steve_  
  
Tony stared at the letter. He slid it back in the envelope and tied the twine, setting everything back the way he’d found it. He pushed the lock back into place and took a deep breath.

When Steve returned, Tony showed him the mangler and asked if they could get a new set of tools. Steve agreed. He was soaking his scraped knuckles in pan of warm water. He asked Tony to cut up the chicken cutlet he’d picked up from the butcher. Everything was great until Steve went to grab a clean undershirt.

“Tony?”

Tony set the knife down. “Steve?”

“What the hell were you doing in my footlocker?” Tony froze.

“I wasn’t --”

“Bullshit!” Steve slammed the lid shut. “When I was in the army, I’d place a piece of string or hair near the hinge. Most people don’t look for it, and it falls out if the lid is opened. You’ve been in here, and I want to know why. I let you live here, I’ve shared my bed with you!”

“And Barnes?” Tony was surprised at the sick jealousy twisting his stomach. When had that happened?

Steve clenched his fists.. “What about him?”

“Did you share your bed with him too, Steve? Or wouldn’t he let you?” It was petty and spiteful. Tony felt horrible the moment he said it.

“You son of a bitch,” Steve growled. “You’ve been spying for Howard this whole time haven’t you?”

Tony started to back up, but Steve paced toward him, shoving him against the counter.

“No, I’ve never worked for Howard. But you haven't been truthful with me either Steve. You let me share your bed for almost two months.”

“Because you were cold,” Steve shouted. “I wouldn’t have touched you. What kind of lowlife do you think I am?”

“So what, I’m not good enough for you?” Tony knew he was being irrational. But he’d never been rational around Steve Rogers, even before they’d ended up here. 

“What the hell are you saying?”

“I don’t know! I don’t fucking know, Steve. I’m stuck here with you. I don’t know if I want to fuck you or punch you, you're exasperating.” 

Steve’s eyes widened in shock. 

“Don’t look at me like that. it’s not what you think It really isn't. It doesn’t have anything to do with Howard. I fucked up. I was just startled ok. I wanted to fix the mangler, I was looking for parts. And I found the letter. I was jealous, ok? I didn’t like you much at first, but you've been sharing your food, your bed, I don't know. I must have Stockholm Syndrome or something. Fuuuck.”

“What?”

“Nevermind. Don't mind me. I was just surprised. I mean, since when are you into men? You’re Captain America, for fucks sake.”

 

Steve grabbed a pitcher off the table and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall in a volley of shattering glass and water. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. It’s a title. It’s never been who I am!” He started to pace. “You know why I don’t like bullies? Because I’ve been picked on. I’ve been picked on for being little and weak, over and over and over. I hate this damned label. Why don’t people understand. I’m still a person. I’m not an icon. Why the hell should I love someone based on their looks? Why can’t I love them for the strength of their character? That’s what Captain America should mean. This name, this title... Captain America should be someone who stands up for what’s right. That’s why I was kicked out of the army, because I don’t believe in blindly following the government, the same government that’s working hand in hand with Howard Stark” he spat the word and Tony flinched. “I don’t want anything to do with his government, or any government that tells someone the love between two consenting adults is wrong. A government that says women can’t hold the same positions in the army we can. Do you know why? Because that’s the same damned line they fed me when I tried to sign up. They told me that I wasn’t good enough to decide what I wanted to do with my own life!” 

“Steve...”

“No, damnit. Listen to me. I lost Peggy and Bucky. Those letters that you rifled through, they’re all I have left. She took a bullet for me, Tony, back in 44. I could have healed, she could have lived, but she jumped in front of a bullet for me. Our government, they think she’s not strong enough to stand on the front lines? You know who she got the most disrespect from? The American soldiers. Always the Yanks, right? If she'd been an American, would she have made it as far as she did? In the end, her death was my fault, but you know what?” He looked up, and Tony forced himself to meet Steve’s eyes.

“What?”

“I don’t regret it. I don’t. I let her dress up like one of us, like one of the guys. We’d carouse with the commandos, go back to her tent and fuck,” he took a dragging breath. “When the sun came up, I’d help her bind her breasts. She’d put on a uniform like the rest of us, and we’d take her out to the front.” He laughed, raw and shuddering. Tony couldn’t breathe. “She was a hell of a soldier. She died taking a bullet that was meant for me, because I helped her go out there, tired from her regular duties, but God, she wanted it. Whenever we were stationed nearby, I took her out there with me. And I can’t bring myself to regret it, because it’s what she wanted.”

Tony carded his fingers in Steve’s hair, but Steve was looking past him, mouth set in a thin line.  
“But Bucky, he was right there, and I couldn’t reach him. It could have been me. I still have his goddamned tags, because the stubborn son of a bitch wouldn’t take them back. I can’t bring myself to wear them, because he never loved me, not like that. So I keep them in that trunk. And you had no business. None.” His hands were shaking.

Tony took a shuddering breath. “Steve, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.”

Tony pushed up on his toes, dragging Steve’s head down until their mouths were flush. He closed his eyes, sweeping the line of moisture caught in Steve’s fine lashes with the pad of his thumb. When he pulled away, he licked the salt with the tip of his tongue. “I’m not used to being wrong.”

“Arrogant,” Steve laughed, low and thready.

“I’ve been wrong about you.”

Steve put more wood in the stove and piled the blankets. When Tony straddled him, he was already half hard, lips swollen from grief, cheeks still tinged a faint pink. He ran his finger around the Arc reactor.

“I’ve been lying to you too.” 

Tony paused. 

“I think I know who you are. I’ve been having dreams.” His finger lingered, tracing the glowing blue light. “About the future.” 

“Steve.”

“I didn't want to go back, didn't want to remember. But it’s real, isn't it?”

Tony just held his gaze. 

"And everything I remember, about Peggy, and my time here?"

“I’m sorry.”

“We have to go back?”

“I’m not sure we can.”


	2. Out of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wants to return to the future. Steve wants to live in the past. Will their inability to come to a compromise destroy their relationship before it can even begin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be three parts, instead of the anticipated two. My apologies. I hope you guys enjoy the new chapter, I'd like to have the last one done in the next week or two. Happy V-Day

Tony woke with Steve’s arms around him. He burrowed closer and pressed his cold fingers against Steve’s neck. “We didn’t do anything last night,” he grumbled. 

Steve smiled, pulling away from Tony’s wandering hands. “I’m sorry. I seem to remember talking until 3:00 a.m., and somebody falling asleep in my lap. You drool, by the way.” 

Tony gave him a highly offended look. “I do not.” 

“I brought you something yesterday. It’s a surprise.” He jerked his head. “In the bag on the counter.” 

“The floor is cold”

“Suit yourself.” Steve climbed out of bed, running a fond hand through Tony’s hair.

Tony pulled the blanket tighter around himself. “Bring it over here.” 

“No.” Steve’s lips quirked. He tossed his night shirt in the laundry basket. Tony watched him from under the huge pile of blankets, his hair poking past the edge in endearing tufts. Steve slid his holster on, and sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Bring it over here, please?”

Steve chuckled, low and amused.

Tony buried his face in Steve’s hip. He could smell the leather and gun oil from Steve’s holster, over the faint smell of sandalwood soap. “You’re an evil man, Steve.”

“And you’re a lazy one.” Steve poked the pile of blankets. “Up.”

“I’m not lazy, I just hate mornings, like any sane person.” Tony rubbed his eyes and stumbled out of bed, dragging all of the blankets in his wake as he walked to the counter. He unrolled the bag. “Holy shit. You got me coffee.” He buried his nose in the bag.

Steve laughed. 

Tony moaned, smashing the bag against his face. “My god, can I give you a blowie?”

“Tony!” 

Tony looked at him over the edge of the bag. “I’m not sorry. You’re my favorite person right now.” He scrunched his nose. “How the hell do I make this?”

Steve gave Tony a fond, exasperated look. “There’s a percolator under the sink.”

Tony smiled, slow and sensuous. He spent more time digging around under the counter, ass in the air, than was strictly merited. 

Steve rolled his eyes and took full advantage of the view. 

Tony dangled the percolator from one hand. “This is an archaic monstrosity. I’m upgrading it this afternoon.”

Steve earned more Tony points when Clint showed up the next day with a giant metal space heater. There wasn’t much room in the tiny apartment, but Tony looked like he wanted to cry, which made the expense more bearable. 

Clint pushed the door open with his foot, his arms straining as he shifted the metal monstrosity to a one armed hold. “You’re turning domestic, Cap.” 

Tony tossed a cracker at Clint’s head. 

“First the coffee maker, now a space heater. Extravagant.” He waggled his eyebrows. 

Steve ignored him, but his cheeks were pink. “Set it by the bed.”

When Clint left, Tony turned the heater on and curled up next to Steve. His nose was a little red and his cheeks were flushed. Steve put the back of his hand against Tony’s forehead. 

“What are you doing? Stop that.” 

“I think you’re coming down with something, you look flushed.”

“You give me fever, baby.” Tony leered.

Steve scowled at him. “Tony, I’m serious. I know we’ve got the heater, but if you’re getting sick, it's a problem, current medical treatments are sub-par, at best.”

Tony snorted and buried himself in the blankets. “I’ll be fine. Quit fussing and come to bed.”

Steve put his sidearm under the pillow and curled up around Tony. 

“You worry too much.” Tony’s voice was muffled, his mouth pressed against the edge of the pillow, but he rolled against Steve, siphoning some of his warmth. His skin was clammy to the touch. Steve curled one large hand over his hip protectively, closed his eyes, and drifted to sleep. 

 

Steve woke in the middle of the night and threw the covers back, alarmed. Tony was a furnace next to him. He was pale and sweating. Steve fumbled out of bed and yanked his robe on. He hurried down the hall and banged on Coulson’s door. The lights came on. and he found himself at the end of a double barrel. Clint squinted at him around the door. “Sorry boss.” 

“Who the fuck is it?” Steve heard Coulson mutter. 

“It’s Cap.” Clint leaned the gun against the end table and opened the door. “What’s the emergency. It’s like three -- “

“It’s Tony, he’s sick --”

“Aw, damnit, Cap, you’ve got to stop coddling him --”

Steve grabbed Clint by the collar and lifted him off his feet. “You get Banner down here now. Tony has this thing in his chest, it makes it harder for him to breath. I don’t know what will happen if he gets sick.”

Clint tapped his arm weakly. Steve flushed and set him down. 

He rubbed his throat. “Jeez, sorry Cap, I didn’t know. We’ll get Banner, just go back to Tony, ok? We’ll find the Doc for you.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Sorry, Clint. I overreacted.”

“Don’t do it again.” Coulson came out of the bedroom, pressed shirt hanging open, holsters dangling from one hand. He gave Steve a steady, assessing look. 

Steve nodded grimly. 

When he returned to the apartment, he filled a granny-style ice bag from the freezer box, one of those rubber bags with a twist top. Tony watched, amused. 

When Steve was done, Tony sat up, holding the bag against the back of his neck. He leaned his head against Steve’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Really. I get like this sometimes, seasonal shit.”

“There’s proper medication for it in the future. We don’t have any zpacks or tamiflu.” Steve clenched his fists. “When you get better, I think we should find a way to get you back.”

Tony’s face went pale. “Me? What about you? You’re going back too.”

Steve grabbed Tony’s hand, “I don’t belong there, Tony. I’ve never belonged there. ”

“Bullshit,” Tony doubled over, wracked with dry coughing.

Steve’s brow furrowed. “We should talk about this later.” 

Tony’s hand tightened around the ice bag. “Yeah, fine. But you’re coming home.”

Steve took a deep breath. “You know, they tried to give me Asthma Cigarettes, when I was little.”

Tony looked up at him. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that pathetic attempt at changing the subject, Rogers.” He glared. “But fine, I'll bite, what the fuck is an Asthma Cigarette?”

“They think that cigarettes open the airways, that they help asthmatics breathe. Bucky used to get them for me. I guess that’s why I took it up again, they don’t hurt me, and they remind me of him. I can stop if it makes it harder for you to breath?” his eyes slid to the arc reactor. 

“I’m not big on it, but I think maybe you need it. Everyone expects you to be some paragon of perfection. It’s like a Steve sized rebellion.” Tony started laughing, and it turned into a wheezing cough. “Don’t make me laugh Steve. Do you have any cough drops?”

“Sorry, we’re lucky I have aspirin and an ice bag, they’re mostly for the boys, pills and lozenges don’t help me. I’ll have Clint run out later.”

“Don’t give up your dirty habits for me Steve. Let's compromise. You want to smoke? Then you smoke on the roof." 

“Yeah. I can do that.” 

Bruce showed up an hour later. He dug through his bag a bit, occasionally touching the wire rim spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. When he was done with his examination, he tucked his tools back into his giant black bag. “You’re running a fairly high fever. Take an aspirin every four hours to keep your temperature under control. You have the flu. Cap told me you have diminished lung capacity, so it’s imperative that you remain in bed and try not to overexert yourself.” He turned toward Steve. “He’ll need extra fluids, plenty of water to keep him from getting dehydrated.” 

Tony was a horrible sick patient. It wasn’t that he refused to take care of himself, it was his persistent inability to sit still for prolonged periods. Steve told Coulson and Clint they were on their own for the next day or so until Tony recovered. 

He managed to find some vanilla ice-cream to sooth Tony’s sore throat. He didn’t think it was the best idea, eating cold food in the middle of winter, but Tony had requested it three days in a row, and Clint was right, Steve had sucker written all over him when it came to Tony. 

They were sitting on the bed eating thin slivers out of little paper cups, trying to make the ice cream last longer. Steve licked his spoon and looked up. Tony was watching him intently, his eyes hooded. “What?”

“Are we doing this?” Tony asked around his spoon. 

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

“This?” Tony pulled the spoon out of his mouth and licked Steve’s lips, slowly pressing him down into the mattress. Steve startled, and fumbled the last of his ice cream. 

Tony crawled over him, and grabbed his hand, licking the vanilla droplets from his fingers; his mouth cold from the ice cream but his skin hot and feverish to the touch. 

Steve ran his fingers down the bow of Tony’s spine, splaying his legs so Tony could slide into the hollow, nestling against him. 

They made love, slow and steady, Steve, pinning Tony’s hands above his head, kissing into his mouth, sticky with vanilla, like they had all the time in the world to savor the slow steady roll of hips, the warmth of splayed hands, and the dizzy, swelling friction, flowing toward an inexorable climax, sharp and shuddering. 

Tony’s fever broke later that night as he huddled against Steve, entangled in the sticky sheets. He stared at the ceiling.

The next two days were uneventful. One afternoon, Steve pulled a box of charcoal sticks and a pad of paper out of the pantry. He set up his easel in the corner. 

“Draw me like one of your french girls.” Tony smirked around a wrench, the tip of his tongue holding it in place as he disassembled an engine block in the middle of their limited floor space. 

“Shut up Tony.” Steve growled.

“Seriously Steve, how come we both know there’s something wrong with this world, and Phil and Clint don’t?” Tony went to move Steve’s battered copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Steve got to it first, stashing it somewhere safe from Tony’s grease stained fingers.

“I don’t know.” Steve stuck the edge of a willow stick in his mouth.

Tony crinkled his nose. “Don’t do that, you’ll poison yourself.”

“Says the guy who walks around with greasy wrenches in his mouth every time I let him near something mechanical.” Steve began to shade a piece of paper black. 

Tony watched his fingers as he rolled the charcoal across the paper.“That’s different.”

“Yeah, says you. Take off your shirt.” Steve crossed his arms.

“What?” Tony sat up. “Steve, I was just kidding about the french girl thing.”

Steve wiped charcoal dust on his pants. “I want to draw the arc reactor.”

Tony fumbled the wrench, startled. “Nope. Definitely not.”

“I bought you a heater.” Steve coaxed.

“Hmmm.” Tony ignored him, trying to find his place again.

“I’ll bring you more coffee?”

Tony stared at him over the edge of a blueprint. “Cheating.” He shrugged out of Steve’s plaid shirt and yanked the white undershirt over his head. 

“Pants too.” Steve’s grin widened.

“No way. It’s cold in here Rogers, and I am very busy, as you can see.”

The grin turned into a self satisfied smirk. “Worried I won’t do you justice?” 

“I’ll have you know--”

“Shy?” Steve was laughing at him. “Don’t I remember you being some sort of famous playboy?”

Tony scowled. “I am --”

“But?”

“I don’t have to remember _their_ names in the morning.” Tony crossed his arms. 

Steve choked on his laughter. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or horrified.”

Tony chucked a pillow at his head and walked behind the privacy screen.

“Really?”

“Shut it,” he growled. “I need to clean up.”

Steve followed him, and grabbed his hand as he reached for a cloth. “Don’t. I like you better like this.” He rubbed a finger over Tony’s cheekbone where a smudge of grease curved, thick and dark. “Gives you character.”

By the time Tony was positioned the way Steve wanted him, the room was warm enough for Steve to work. He fleshed in an outline, smudging the curves of Tony’s face, filling in his curious eyes, and subconsciously rubbing his grease smeared thumb over his lower lip as he sketched the contour of Tony’s cheek. “Missing something," Steve muttered around his eraser. 

Tony was staring wistfully out the back window. “Hmm?”

“Here.” Steve took a step toward him and draped his dogtags over Tony’s head.

“Steve?”

Steve crossed his arms and gave Tony a searching look. “Wear them?”

Tony reached for the metal tags and ran his thumb over Steve’s name. “Really?”

“If you want?” He faltered, uncertain. 

“I do. I’m just not sure I deserve to.” 

“Hey, don’t talk about my best guy like that.” 

“That’s adorable Steve, I think I just threw up in my mouth a little, really.”

“Shuddap.” Steve wrapped his hand around Tony’s. “Seriously. Wear them.”

“Ok.” Tony let the tags settle against the arc reactor. 

During the winter months, Howard’s boys stopped coming into Steve’s territory, it was too cold, and Cap had the advantage. But the ice on the east river was starting to thaw, and as soon as they had a few days of decent weather, everything started to resume it's normal pace. 

Steve decided it was safe to let Tony leave the apartment as long as Clint or one of the higher level operatives who lived in house accompanied him. 

Sometimes Tony would stop by the farmers market or butcher shop after he was done with his coffee -- Steve offered to send someone for him, but Tony hated being cooped up inside. He started fixing things for everyone in the house; broken watches, percolators, jammed guns. Steve made a crack about Snow White and Tony tossed a wrench at his head. 

He began inventing useful things like pots of glue that could be used on moderate cuts and punctures, instead of stitches. 

Steve started buying Lux Flakes, and other small luxuries -- Clint gave him shit for it, but Steve knew he’d taken to slipping Tony small pieces chocolate for his coffee. 

Tony had everyone wrapped around his little finger. 

Steve knew Tony took the suit out at night. He found it unnerving, but he didn’t begrudge him the freedom. After the first night, Steve never tried to stop him. Sometimes he’d go up on the roof, wrapped in his overcoat, and wait for Tony to get back. 

Tony grew increasingly agitated as the days passed. One evening Steve took a closer look at what he was working on, it looked like a pile of loose vacuum tubes and futuristic electrical components. It was glowing softly. “What is that?”

Tony frowned. “It’s supposed to be a time machine. So we can go home. I just don’t have the right materials.”

“Tony...”

Tony scowled. “I know. You don’t want to leave. You’ve told me a million times.” He slammed the wrench down. “We don’t belong here Steve. I can’t upgrade or repair my suit, and who knows what they’ve done with my robots. You may not have family in the future, but I do” -- it was a low blow, and he knew it, but right now, Tony didn’t care -- “remember, Rhodey and Pep? What if they need me, Steve? I can’t stay here. You said yourself, it’s no place for a guy with my health concerns." 

Steve bridled. “How the hell do you think I felt, stuck in the future. I lost everyone too. But you didn’t see me trying to build a damned time machine to -- to get away from you!”

“No, you just sulked in the basement and judged us all by your impossibly high fucking standards.” Tony ran both hands through his hair until it was sticking up. He grabbed the wrench and hurled it at the wall.

Steve curled his fingers. “Fine! If you want to go home so bad, just go. But you’re going alone.”

Tony looked stricken. “Steve...”

Steve ignored him, and turned away, walking to the window. Tony watched the steady rise and fall of his shoulders for a moment. “I’m going out.” He grabbed his jacket and headed for the stairs.

Steve took a deep breath. “I’m --”

Tony jerked around. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry, because you’re not. You want to stay in the past and wallow in what you’ve lost, fine. I’ve got people who still need me, and if you’re not one of them, then that’s fine, Steve!” He flinched, fingers trembling with rage. “Now, I’m going out, you’ve said what you needed to. You’re staying here. I get it.”

When he landed on the roof several hours later, Steve was waiting for him, curled up against the ledge with two cups of tepid coffee. Tony didn’t say anything. He let the suit unfurl back into it’s briefcase, and crossed the distance between them, dragging Steve in for a punishing kiss. 

“I’m sorry.” Steve leaned in until their foreheads were touching.

“I know.” Tony was still flushed from the flight. He looked up at Steve, running the tip of his tongue over his mouth. “I want you, so much.” He took a shuddering breath. “Even if you don’t come back with me. I want whatever you’re willing to give me, now, while we’re still together. That’s why I accepted these.” He touched his chest where Steve’s dog tags were nestled. “I’m not giving them back.”

Tony watched Steve’s eyes, the unusual light blue coloring that changed to reflect his moods. Steve ran a thumb down the side of Tony’s face until he leaned into it. His mouth opened under Steve’s, a soft curl of warmth in the early morning chill. Steve sighed, running his fingers low over Tony’s hips, tugging him toward the stairs and the familiar warmth of their bed.


	3. In The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finally confronts Howard. In the end, he's forced to make a decision he never thought he'd have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really sure how to mark this chapter: 
> 
> Temporary Character Death + What Could Be Considered Suicide. 
> 
> So please, keep that in mind. Thank you for reading. :)

“Howard’s in Brooklyn. The son of a bitch!” Clint slammed his fist on the table.

Tony paled. “Steve, you can’t go after him. It’s too dangerous.”

Clint paced the room, running his fingers through his hair while Coulson stood by the door, face impassive.

Tony grabbed the coffee pot, his hands shaking, and poured a scalding cup.

“Go on, I’ll be down in a bit.” Steve made an abortive hand gesture. Clint and Coulson shut the door behind them. Steve waited until he heard the heavy footfall on the stairs before turning to Tony. He rubbed a finger in a soothing circle at the base of Tony’s neck, leaning over his shoulder to look at the newspaper article. “This is it. We could end it. I need to talk to him.”

Tony jerked to his feet, his chair scraping along the floor. “He’s not going to listen, Steve. He’s not the man you remember, have you read the obituaries? Please. Just stay here.”

Steve curled his hands around Tony’s. “He hates me, because of Peggy, I think I owe him this much.”

“You don’t owe him shit,” Tony hissed. “He was a crappy father, you’ll note I don’t call him daddy, there’s a reason for that. I hate to say it Steve, but it was probably his obsession with you that kept him sane in the future. He traded one obsession for another.” Tony crumpled the paper in his hand. “Like father like son.”

Steve recoiled. “You’re not like him, Tony.”

“I could have been, so easily. I was headed that way, before -- before this,” he tapped the arc reactor. “Howard’s not going to listen to you, Steve, you need to let it go.”

“I can’t!”

“Why the hell not? What’s so damned important about my father?”

“You, Tony. You are.” Steve’s breathing was uneven, his hands white on the back of the chair. “You are! What if he’d listened to someone? If he’d become the father you needed?”

Tony jerked like he’d been slapped. “That’s lovely. Do you know who I am? I'm Iron Man. Everything I am, right now, from the day I returned from Afghanistan alive, to Rhodey and Pepper. Everything I have, everything I stand for. Everyone I stand in with, including you, I built from that neglect. The man I am, he wouldn’t be possible without that. I’ll never be you, never be Captain America. But you of all people should know that sometimes adversity forges something stronger. You can’t fix me Steve. I don’t need to be fixed. 

“I’m not trying to fix you.” Steve did the thing with his jaw that was equal parts sexy and infuriating, the slight firming that meant he’d made up his mind, and he’d be damned if anyone was going to change it. “Even if I agreed with you, he’s still hurting my people, and in Brooklyn, we don’t take kindly to that.”

Tony could feel a headache forming at the base of his skull. “You do what you need to, Steve. I can’t stop you, but I’m going to stay here and work on finding a way home.”

Steve slammed the door on his way out.

Tony shoved the entire project off the table. Time Travel was highly theoretical. How an idiot like Doom managed to build a time disarray weapon was beyond him. You could travel forward in time, if you used constant acceleration, or you could potentially travel via wormhole. Was it possible this was an alternate universe? But, if so, Reed would have saved them by now, as galling as that was. Steve was so fucking stubborn. He sliced his finger on a sharp edge and cursed. He wasn’t going to get shit done worrying about Steve. He had to stop this idiotic vendetta once and for all.

Tony checked the armor for damage. Everything seemed to be in good working order. He’d built a crude charging station in the back of the pantry, so the suit had a full charge. He could still access J.A.R.V.I.S. with limited functionality, and no way to properly install updates or establish remote access to Stark Tower. Tony dragged the briefcase to the roof and suited up. Steve was hard to miss in his bright blue jacket. He was sitting on a stoop, perfectly calm, wearing a pair of brass knuckles that seemed were weirdly out of place on him. The shield was still strapped to his back. 

“Give it up Howard, you’re hurting the men who fought with us during the war. What the hell’s wrong with you?” Steve was running his fingers over the brass knuckles slowly.

“It doesn’t matter, my boy.” Howard looked like an Italian mob boss, from the pinstripe suit to the rakish tilt of his hat. He was flanked by two tall flunkies who were ninety-five percent brawn and five percent brain. 

Tony flinched. Oh yeah, Howard had been spending way too much time with Stane.  
“You were a dream, Stevie. And now look at you, washed up, living in a slum in Brooklyn. How the mighty have fallen.”

Tony cut the repulsors and landed in front of Steve, looming menacingly. “Get out of here.” His metallic voice came out a flat angry growl.

Howard took a step forward, fascinated. “Damned if you haven’t been holding out on me Steve, Obi will want this. How much?”

“I’m not for sale.” Tony gritted his teeth.

“Everything is for sale, you just have to know the price.”

“Leave, now.” Tony flexed a gauntlet, and blasted one of Howard’s bodyguards. 

Howard snapped his fingers and grinned. A shot rang out from the other end of the ally. Steve slumped forward. 

Tony screamed. He raised his hand and blasted Howard’s sniper off the roof. One of Clint’s arrows embedded itself in the other bodyguard’s chest. Tony leveled his repulsor at Howard. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Good luck, my boy. We’ll hunt you down, eventually. But I’m a good guy, if you change your mind about the armor and want to negotiate, you know where to find me.”

When Tony dropped to the ground next to Steve, Coulson was checking his vitals, his face grim.

His chest was a mess. There was no way Steve was going to make it, even with his accelerated healing. 

Tony yanked his helmet off. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve coughed, red bubbles forming at the corner of his mouth. 

Tony let the armor disassemble and crawled over to Steve, running his fingers along the contours of his face. “I told you not to, you stubborn son of a bitch.”

“It doesn’t hurt.” Steve grabbed his hand. “It’s ok.” 

“You’re going to be ok.” Tony was crying. “Promise me, you’re going to live.”

Steve’s hand flexed around his. “I promise.”

Tony closed his eyes. He stayed there, kneeling next to Steve until his knees were throbbing.

“Holy shit. Coulson, get over here.”

Tony looked up at Clint, “give us a moment, fuck.”

“No, look, Stark, it’s knitting shut. The goddamned wound is closing.”

Tony jerked, startled. It was. The bullet hole was closing. 

Steve was out cold, but his pulse was getting stronger. “Get him back to the apartment.” 

He shouldn’t be alive. It was impossible. Even for Captain America. They’d all seen the shot. Even Steve couldn’t survive a heart shot like that.

Tony couldn’t sleep. He wrapped himself in a blanket and dragged a chair to the window. When he peeled Steve’s shirt off in the morning, the wound was gone. There wasn’t a trace of scar tissue, just Steve’s perfectly sculpted chest. Tony ran his fingers over the site of the wound and Steve’s eyes fluttered open. 

“How are you alive?” he whispered. 

“I don’t know. I was dying, and I made you that promise. I meant it. I really did. I didn’t want to die. I hated the thought of leaving you here. It just started healing. I could feel it. It wasn’t painful, just warm.” His hand wrapped his hand around Tony’s fingers where they were still pressed firmly over his his heart.

“That’s not fucking normal.” Tony sat on the edge of the bed. “Even for you.”

“Yeah, I know. So, what do we do now?”

“I’m not sure. I’m not getting anywhere with the time machine, it’s bullshit science. For all I know, Doom’s killed everyone already. ”

“Don’t.” Steve grabbed Tony’s hand, dragging it down to the bed.

“I should have killed Howard. I really should have.” Tony was shaking. 

“There’s no shame in not killing your father. You’re a better man than he’ll ever be.”  
“No, I’m not.”

“Hush,” Steve ran his fingers through Tony’s hair until they both fell into a restless sleep. 

By evening, a light rain began to fall. The temperature was supposed to drop, and the rivers, half melted, would begin to refreeze. 

Tony and Steve were asleep, curled around each other on Steve’s tiny bed. A bolt of lightning struck a tree outside the apartment. Tony jumped to his feet, startled. The door flew open, and Thor walked in. Tony stared, shocked.

“Anthony, at last!”

“Thor?” Steve was on his feet, his eyes wide.

“Steven, you remember me? That is excellent news. Listen my friends, I do not have long here, even my magic cannot pierce the veil for any extended legnth.”

Tony frowned. “How did you get here? I guess it makes sense, gods can time travel --”

Thor shook his head, “I’m afraid not my friend. This is not the past.” 

Steve paled. 

“You are trapped in Steven’s mind. Your bodies are on life support in the mortal world, I’ve come to return Anthony before his mortal vessel begins to fail.” 

“And Steve?” Tony frowned. “You’re here to take us both back, right?”

Thor’s face was anguished. “I cannot bring Steven back with us, he must choose to return.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Tony snapped.

“Tony’s body is deteriorating?” Steve asked quietly. 

“Aye, while your body is held together by the serum, his vessel is mortal, and he was never meant to be here.” Thor clasped Tony’s wrist. “We must go.” 

“Let go of me, Thor.” Tony snapped.” I need more time.” He balled his fists, pleading.

“I’m afraid there is no time, my friend, you don’t belong here.”

“Neither does he!” Tony thrashed in Thor’s hold. 

Steve’s face set, his jaw firm, features resolved. He was shaking. Lightning crackled overhead. “Tony, if he’s telling the truth, you have to go.”

“Fuck you. It’s my body. I’m not going anywhere. We can fix this, Steve.”

“ Anthony, this curse was meant for Steven. Until you leave this place, he cannot return. You are only trapped in Steven’s mind because you were touching him when the ray hit. I can take you, because you were never supposed to be here, I cannot take him. The magic won’t let me. He must say and complete the spell or remain, a prisoner in this place.”

“How do we wake him up? How can he complete the spell? Don’t do this Thor!” Tony tried to bite Thor’s hand, but he was pinned firmly in place.

“Captain, heed my words.” Thor’s eyes were troubled. “You control this world, the landscapes, the people, they are all products of your mind. You can create and destroy them if you believe it to be so, but it will never be real, it is a dreamscape, and if you let it, it will control you. Heed my warning.”

Steve’s fingers strayed to his chest, where the bullet wound should have been. “Peggy and Bucky?” he asked softly.

Thor nodded, reluctantly, “Aye, you can have them here, but I warn you, it is an illusion. You can return to us, but it will require a great sacrifice. You’re a brave man Steve Rogers, I trust you’ll figure it out.” Thor raised Mjolnir over his head. He and Tony vanished in a brilliant flash of light.

Tony screamed. He was floating over a hospital bed, his pale body lying in the bed below. Thor shoved him toward the body. He felt like he was being burned alive. Everything was numb and syrupy, until he was pulled under, then everything went black.

Tony gasped, jerking upright. His arm was attached to an I.V. He took several shallow dragging breaths, until he noticed the figure slumped in the chair next to his bed. “Clint!” 

Clint jerked upright, almost falling off the chair. “Tony! You’re awake?” Clint looked at the other bed, hopefully. Cap?”

Tony turned to look at the pale figure lying in repose next to him and closed his eyes. His head throbbed. His hands and feet were bound. He felt a hot surge of anger.

Thor shook his head at Clint.

“You son of a bitch!” Tony’s eyes flew open. He struggled to rip the I.V. free, clawing at the restraints. “You left him there. You left Steve there, on his own. You knew I would fight you. That’s why I’m restrained and he’s not. You get your shit and get out of my tower.”

Thor’s fingers tightened on Mjolnir’s handle. “I had no choice.”

Tony couldn’t breath. “No. I had no choice. I would have stayed. I could have helped him.”

Thor closed his eyes. “Steven must help himself. I know he is your shield brother, but this is one choice you cannot make for him, Anthony.”

Tony’s eyes were murderous.

“You are distraught, I will leave you now.” Thor raised his arm and vanished.

“What happened?” Clint asked quietly.

Tony exhaled. “I don’t know. Oh, god. Clint. I thought we were in the past, the whole time. We were trapped in Steve’s mind. Steve hates it here. He created an entire world, built around what could have been.” He choked. 

“Get these fucking restraints off of me.”

Clint unbuckled the wrist restraints cautiously. Tony’s tendons were corded, muscles tense with the effort not to jerk free. “He’ll wake up. No worries. You did.” Clint sounded like he was reassuring himself more than anything. Tony laughed, crazed and broken.

“I’ll get you something to eat and call Pepper, she’ll want to know you’re ok.”

“Don’t bother. I’m not.”

“Tony --”

“I said don’t bother. Get the damned cuffs off my ankles and get out.”

“Where are you going to go?” Hawkeye set a glass of water on the table next to him.

Tony’s eyes were haunted. “Nowhere, for now.”

Clint nodded and removed the remaining restraints. Tony turned away from him and curled up into a ball.

Fury put them under observation for two days. 

Tony didn’t sleep, and he wouldn’t eat. Pepper finally coaxed him into half a Burger King whopper. He threw most of it in the trash. When Tony wasn’t sleeping, he sat in his uncomfortable plastic chair and watched Steve. Fury removed the specialists when it became apparent that there weren't going to be any changes. He sent a staff psychiatrist to check on Tony. Tony ignored her until she asked him about Steve. “How the fuck do you think I feel?” he shouted. “Get out!”

She went. 

Tony climbed into Steve’s bed and tried to sleep.

\---

Steve stared at the dogtags in his hand as he sat on the edge of his bed, alone. The apartment flickered in and out around him. Sometimes it was the room he’d shared with Tony for the last few months, sometimes it was his quarters at the Avengers tower. He slowly learned to control it. The shifts became less frequent. His new home was a mixture of the past and present. He had an art studio filled with half finished paintings and sketches, most of them were of Tony. His jukebox took a USB stick. He hated it.

When Bucky and Peggy knocked on his door, looking for a place to crash, he locked himself in the bathroom and vomited. He opened the door several hours later and peaked out, they were still there, curled up together on the bed he’d shared with Tony.

Bucky opened his eyes and smiled. 

Steve frowned. “This isn’t what I want. I thought I did. But it’s really not.” 

“We wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want us Steve. You call to us in your sleep.”

“I miss you every single day, Bucky, but you’re not real. You’re not real, and Tony is. He needs me.”

“If that were true, he’d be here.” Bucky smiled.

“He is.” Steve looked at the paintings. At the coffee maker, still sitting on the counter. The wrench, out of place on his modern coffee table. “He’s here.” Steve staggered out the door, into the street, and started running toward the East River. It was snowing. His lungs burned. When he reached the bank, he stopped, frozen in place. His fingers were numb. He closed his eyes and walked into the water.

Tony shivered and curled into Steve’s body. He opened his eyes slowly. Something was wrong.

Steve’s lips were dark blue. Sometime during the night, his body temperature had dropped astronomically. Tony curled up next to him on the hospital bed, watching the heart monitor. Steve’s heartbeat was slowing. He jerked to his feet, shouting for help. Steve started seizing. He spit up a mouthful of icy slush, and his monitor flatlined.

Tony lost his shit.

Shield agents rushed into the room. They tried to pry him away from the body. He punched and kicked violently, headbutting one agent in the nose. Natasha and Clint came running. “Stand down!” Clint barked. The agents froze, torn between obeying a ranking agent and their current standing orders. Tony snarled.

Clint placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Tony.”

“He’s not gone. He isn’t.” Tony gasped. “Thor said he had to choose.”

“He’s gone.” Clint’s voice was gentle, strained.

Tony pressed his ear against Steve’s chest. “Come on. Come on, you stubborn son of a bitch! He’s not dead. He’s not.”

Clint grabbed Tony’s wrists. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He tried to lash out, but in his current state, Hawkeye deflected the blows easily.

“Tony.” It was low and thready, but Tony jerked, turning to stare at the bed, eyes wild.

Steve’s eyes were open, icy blue, and pale with shock.

The heart monitor clicked and started to accelerate.

“Steve?” Tony whispered.

“I did it.” Steve coughed. He began shivering. “I made it back” 

Tony touched his neck, watching the steady rise and fall of Steve’s chest.

Steve grabbed his hand. His fingers were like ice, but Tony could feel him getting warmer. His teeth were chattering. “Cold.”

“Christ.” Tony grabbed a pile of blankets from the closet. He draped himself the across the bed next to Steve. When he looked up Natasha and Clint were gone. Steve wrapped an arm around his waist, too weak for anything else. Tony closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, real sleep, for the first time in two days.

When Steve woke up the next morning, Thor was sitting in one of the plastic visitor’s chairs. “My friends, Anthony, I am truly sorry, for everything. But it is good to have you back.”

“You could have told me, Thor.” Steve’s hand carded through Tony’s hair.

“It was not my place. I did what I could.”

Tony’s hand curled around Steve’s under the blankets. He was half awake, head burrowed in the crook of Steve’s arm.

“I had to die. To be reborn here, I had to die again. And I had to want it. As long as I believed I would heal, I’d have been stuck there.” Steve’s hand tightened around Tony’s. “If you hadn’t gone back with me, Tony, I’d still be stuck there. You were the grounding point I needed to return.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I wanted it to be real. I wanted stay there with you. I was being selfish.” Steve stilled. “I walked into the East River.”

“Jesus. Why would you do that?” Tony couldn’t breathe.

“I already have one set of memories -- of dying. I knew what it felt like to drown. I couldn't bear a new set of memories. I couldn’t.” His grip was painfully tight around Tony’s hand, but Tony didn’t try to pull free. “I didn’t know what to do. You were gone. Eventually, I realized that the world I was trapped in was never going to be real, that I had to let it go. If I wanted to return here,to you, I’d have to stop pining for what I’d lost and move on.”

Thor nodded.

“They were both there. Bucky and Peggy. They showed up last night. When Bucky said he wanted me,” he smiled sadly, “I knew it wasn’t real. It was a reflection of the things I thought I wanted, once. Taking advantage of that would have been a perversion of my friendship with Bucky, and it would have tarnished what I had with you. It wasn’t real.” He touched Tony’s face. “You were the only thing I couldn’t bring myself to try and recreate. I couldn’t. There were pieces of you everywhere I looked, but I never tried to bring you back” He choked.

“It’s ok Steve, you did it, you’re home now.”

“It’s not ok, I created that world as some sort of elaborate revenge fantasy, to fix things. I wanted Howard dead, he was my friend, and I wanted to hurt him.”

Tony turned to look up at Steve. “What?”

“I created the world we lived in. My rivalry with Howard... I read S.H.I.E.L.D’s dossiers, Tony. I think it was my way of coping with what he turned into, what he did to you. I created a world that’s more violent than the one we live in now.”

Tony was quiet for a moment. “You created a world with problems that needed to be solved. You were trying to help me. Misguided, I’ll grant you, but human.” He pressed his finger over Steve’s heart. “You are a good man.”

After Thor left, Tony brought Steve a bowl of chicken broth. His fingers still shook when he tried to wrap them around the spoon, so Tony helped him eat.

”Did you really walk into the East River?”

Steve paled. “Yes. But please, let’s talk about something else. Can we share rooms for awhile? I think I’m going to need the extra body heat.”

Tony laughed, low and breathy. “You know I love you, right?”

“I think these belong to you.” Steve pulled his dogtags over his head and dropped them in Tony’s palm. 

Tony curled his fingers around the familiar metal. “It seemed so real.”

“It was real.” Steve took the chain from Tony’s hands and draped it over his head.

“I’m glad you’re alive, Steve.”

“I’m glad to be alive,” Steve took a deep breath, and Tony could feel the tension leaving his body. “I’m glad to be back in the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately, I don't have a Beta, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. (Not that they wouldn't be otherwise. :)
> 
> For clarification: Tony was the only one in Steve's mind, because he was the only one touching Steve when the ray went off, so Clint and Phil were products of Steve's imagination. I'm also kind of sad, I had a whole scene planned for Natasha, but it didn't work out. So the fact that she's not around as much as the others wasn't really intentional.
> 
> Thank you again for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :)


End file.
